


i'm not afraid of this ghost, i'm afraid of him leaving

by Keira_63



Series: The Queen & Her Lord M [26]
Category: ITV Victoria, ITV Victoria (2016), Victoria (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Ghosts, Lord M dies in 1837, Romance, Supernatural Elements, Vicbourne, but that doesn’t stop him from helping Victoria, ghost!Lord M, one-shot for Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 16:26:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16478972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keira_63/pseuds/Keira_63
Summary: Victoria comes to the throne a few months after the tragic death of Prime Minister Lord Melbourne. But when the difficulties of her new role threaten to overwhelm her, she finds that death is not quite enough to prevent Lord Melbourne from offering his assistance.





	i'm not afraid of this ghost, i'm afraid of him leaving

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the historical characters in Victoria nor do I own the TV series which was written by Daisy Goodwin. Any lines from the show are also not mine and are just borrowed from Daisy Goodwin and ITV Victoria.

_My poor uncle, the King, is very unwell. The doctors say he is not long for this world, but Lehzen tells me he is determined to survive until my eighteenth birthday so that mama and Sir John are unable to force a regency.  Dear uncle, I wish I could see him more often._

_This afternoon a messenger brought news that the Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, has died suddenly of a heart attack. I did not know him, and Lehzen says he was quite disreputable (though she would not explain why), but others have said he was a very clever, good sort of man, and I am sorry to hear of his death._

 

_The Journal of Princess Victoria of Kent, 12th April 1837_

 

* * *

 

Victoria does not like her Prime Minister very much.

Sir Robert Peel is not horrible, exactly, but he is so brusque and dull, and when he looks at her he seems to see only a Queen and not a real person.

 

To make matters worse, when the Privy Council come to Kensington to kneel and kiss her hand, she finds that while she knows the names of the men present, she is not familiar enough with most of them to guess which face matches which name.

The first kneels before her and there is a moment of terrible silence as she frantically struggles to think of the man’s name before the situation becomes intolerably embarrassing.

 _Lord Ilchester_ , she hears a voice whisper in her ear.

She is so shocked she nearly jumps, but she holds herself together and merely repeats the name, letting out a quiet exhale of relief when the man nods and stands.

She glances to the side but sees no one at all.

There is not any time to wonder, though, as another kneels before her now.

 _Lord Howard_ , the whisper comes again and Victoria duly repeats the name, with more confidence this time.

And so it goes on. She recognises some of the men (like her uncles Sussex and Cumberland, and the Duke of Wellington) but for the others she relies solely on the mysterious voice, which never steers her wrong.

 

Later, after she has announced her determination to be Queen Victoria, not Alexandrina or Elizabeth or anything else Sir John Conroy suggests, she reflects on the earlier events of the day.

Is she going mad, as her grandfather did? Hearing voices, after all, is _never_ a good thing.

And yet …

She does not think a voice so helpful, so warm and friendly, can be very bad.

 

* * *

 

A few weeks after her uncle’s death, Victoria is reading through some papers and trying to get her head around the confusing documents that are like nothing she has ever studied.

Why, she wonders, did mama not ensure she was better prepared?

 

“You look like you might require some assistance, Ma’am.”

She whirls around, eyes wide, and spots a man standing near her.

Dark hair peppered with grey, a handsome face and kind eyes.

“Who are you?” she asks, a rush of fear making her tremble slightly, “how did you get in here? I must insist you leave immediately or I will call the guards.”

The corners of his mouth twitch into a friendly grin, “I am afraid, Ma’am, that guards will have no effect whatsoever against me.”

Victoria narrows her eyes at the man. He doesn’t seem to be dangerous, but there is definitely something not quite right.

“Who are you?” she repeats softly.

He bows gallantly, “William Lamb, Viscount Melbourne, at your service, Ma’am.”

 

Victoria gasps.

Lord Melbourne.

The _deceased_ Lord Melbourne.

“But you …”

“I am aware of my passing, Ma’am,” he says with a wry smile tinged with a little sadness, “and yet here I remain, unseen by all save you. I cannot say I ever expected such an afterlife, no matter how irreverent I may have been sometimes in life.”

Victoria does not understand how anyone can be so calm and collected about being trapped as … well, as a ghost. But perhaps Lord Melbourne has become used to his circumstances.

“How do you bear it?” she asks.

He shrugs, “I watch people, which can be amusing. It is rather dull, though, to be unable to read or ride or eat. I rather think, however, that things are beginning to look up, now that I have found someone to talk to.”

She blushes a little. Lehzen may have disapproved of Lord Melbourne, but he is certainly charming.

Suddenly, though, Victoria thinks back to her first day as Queen and realises she has heard Lord Melbourne’s voice before. 

“You were there,” she says, “at my first council, when I did not know what to say.”

He looks a little sheepish, “my apologies if I frightened you, Ma’am. I saw you struggling and wished to assist, but I also knew that if I were to appear to you then there might be trouble – it would not have done for the whole room to see you speaking with a man who was not actually there.”

“You do not need to apologise,” she tells him, “I _was_ startled, but also very grateful. I want so much to be a good Queen, to make my poor papa proud, but …” she sighs with frustration and gestures at the papers on her desk, “I was never taught what I need to know. I go through my box and I do not understand what I read. Sir Robert’s explanations confuse and bore me, and this is something dearest Lehzen cannot help me with.”

 

“I could assist you, if you wish,” Lord Melbourne says, looking a little unsure about how his suggestion might be received.

His words are so sincere and well-meaning that Victoria almost feels like crying. She has been so worried these past few weeks, trying desperately to do what is required of her as well as possible, yet stumbling at every turn.

“Just until you are more familiar with things,” Lord Melbourne adds quickly, clearly thinking she disapproves of his offer.

“That would be wonderful, Lord Melbourne,” she smiles at him, trying to convey all her heartfelt gratitude into a few words, “I would be extremely grateful for your assistance.”

 

They begin with the basics, and Victoria has never found the subjects of History and Politics so fascinating.

Lord Melbourne does not recite dry facts the way Sir Robert does. Instead he tells stories that manage to convey all the information she needs in an interesting, exciting way.

He holds her attention entirely, and at times makes her laugh so loudly that he has to warn her to stay quiet or risk the guards coming in to investigate the disturbance.

At the end of three hours she feels ten times cleverer than she did before. She looks at her papers and actually understands them, and she signs her name with a wide smile.

 

“I must go,” he tells her as she blots the last of her signatures, “I like to look in on my family every now and then, and I imagine you must dress for dinner soon.”

“You will come back again tomorrow, will you not?” she asks, “I am sure your assistance with the papers would be invaluable.”

His eyes brighten with excitement, “of course, Ma’am, I would be honoured.”

She nods decisively, “then I will see you tomorrow … Lord M.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking amused, “until tomorrow, Ma’am.”

And then he vanishes from the room, leaving her feeling suddenly bereft.

* * *

 

They get into a routine of sorts.

Victoria refuses all offers of help when it comes to the state papers. Lord M’s tutelage is all she needs to help her understand, and she does not want to lose what time she has with him.

He can follow her on her visits and state engagements, but they cannot talk then as they do when there is just the two of them, and so much of Victoria’s days belong to the state, to the country – the time she spends with Lord M is hers alone.

The stories he tells, the wisdom he imparts. They speak of every topic under the sun, laugh and joke together like friends who have known each other for decades. She can be honest with him in a way she cannot with anyone else, even Lehzen, and he always knows exactly what to say when the trials and worries of being Queen make her heart heavy.

 

Victoria wishes he could join her in riding out, or at the balls she holds, wishes that she could speak with him in public, and that she did not have to hide her smiles when she spots him out of the corner of her eye.

She befriends his sister, shows favour to his nephews, chooses one of his nieces to help attend her at her coronation.

(she can see him watching her, tears glistening on his cheeks as she is crowned, a pillar of silent support throughout the nerve-wracking ordeal).

He teaches her not only about politics, but about so much else, and he bolsters her through every moment of doubt, a pillar of strength for her.

 

She tries her best to make things better for him.

When they have time she reads to him, scouring the palace library for titles he has not read. And when work distracts her she lays the book out on the table next to her, flicking each page over every few minutes so that he might read it himself while she signs her papers.

She knows more about the news now than she ever did, just so she can update him, and laugh as when he rails good-naturedly against the Tories.

If he is precious and interesting and important to her, then she tries her best to be amusing for him, to do what little things she can to show him how much she appreciates all he has done for her.

 

* * *

 

Skerrett, her younger dresser, is instrumental in helping Victoria prevent any rumours from growing. She locks doors and keeps an eye out for courtiers and guards alike.

They have to be careful, after all. There are plenty of people who would love to get their hands on evidence that their Queen was not of sound mind.

Skerrett asks no questions and Victoria tells no lies. She does not know what her dresser thinks about her insistence on being alone for so many hours of the day, and when she asks one day the dresser simply smiles at her.

“We’ve all got secrets, Your Majesty, and no matter what’s going on, I’m certain that you aren’t mad.”

It isn’t easy, or ideal, but Victoria thinks it is worth it for her time with Lord M, which is usually the best part of her day.

 

* * *

 

Victoria’s uncle Leopold comes to visit with the goal of persuading her that her cousin Albert is the perfect husband for her.

She is inclined to disagree.

 

Albert was a bore the last time they met, and a disagreeable one at that. From what her uncle Leopold says (even if he paints it in flattering terms) nothing has changed in the years that have passed.

Besides, she does not need a husband. She has her duties as Queen, Lehzen, her ladies … and Lord M of course.

 

She must go through the motions of entertainment for her uncle, though, even if she wishes he were back in Belgium.

The masquerade ball goes well enough, though her cousin George is a great annoyance and her uncle Cumberland lurks in the corner, probably wishing misfortune on her. She likes most of her dance partners, but they all lack something – none of them can quite make her smile like … like Lord M can.

 

Her ghostly friend comes to visit when the ball has ended and the carriages have trudged away.

Perfect timing as always. She has asked him a lot of questions about his life as a ghost, some of which even he (with all his vast knowledge) cannot answer, but the only time they ever discussed his tendency to appear exactly when she needs him, he simply told her that he just knew.

 

“How was the ball?” he asks, “did Prince George behave himself?”

“Cousin George,” she scoffs, “he was very insulting, but I do not care about his opinion.”

“He is a fool,” Lord M says gently.

“You are kind to say so, Lord M. The ball was a success, I think, though the dancing was a bit of a bore.”

He looks surprised, “but you love dancing, Ma’am.”

Victoria only sighs, “there was something missing, I suppose, even if I’ve no idea what it was. Oh, but I wish we could dance together, Lord M, I am sure we would have had so much fun.”

She reaches out almost by instinct, forgetting for a moment that though she can see him, Lord M is not physically present.

But, before she can pull away, her hand touches him.

 

They both gasp in unison, as Victoria presses her hand more firmly against Lord M’s arm.

It isn’t entirely solid, like it would be with any other living person, but nor does her hand go entirely through him.

“How?” she asks.

“I do not know, Ma’am,” he replies, looking down in wonderment.

She does not wish to analyse it, though, not when they have been given such a gift.

“Fate perhaps,” she tells him, “the universe wants us to dance together, Lord M.”

He laughs, a deep, rich sound that makes her feel warm all over, “well we do not want to deny the universe, do we?”

He makes a bow and offers her his hand. She curtsies in return and takes it, revelling in the feeling of being in the arms of the person she cares most about in the world.

 

And so, in a darkened room lit only by the moonlight streaming through the windows, with no music save that in their own heads, a Queen and a ghost waltz happily together.

 

* * *

 

She loves him.

Victoria loves Lord M.

She does not know how long it has been building, but she realises it for certain the morning after she dances in his arms.

In love with a ghost, with a dead man.

Perhaps the universe has a cruel sense of humour after all.

 

She doesn’t tell him. She can’t tell him.

Maybe in another life, if he had lived. Perhaps then the odds might have been overcome.

But in this world ... death, she thinks, must be an insurmountable obstacle.

Somehow she thinks he knows, though, and even returns the feeling. It’s there is the way he looks at her, and if she can take any comfort from this situation then she finds it in the fact that at least this deep love is not unrequited.

 

Her uncle Leopold sends for Albert and Ernest.

Victoria rages to Lord M. She isn’t ready for this, the pain of her love for Lord M is too raw.

 

“Perhaps Prince Albert will surprise you,” he tells her gently.

She shakes her head, “I don't want things to change.”

“I know, Ma'am,” his eyes are sad, even as he tries to put on a brave face, “but I believe you will not be happy alone. You need a husband to love you, honour you, cherish you.”

 _But I have you_ , she thinks to herself, _why do I need anyone else_?

She could be like Elizabeth, a virgin Queen.

“There is no one I care for,” she says.

He sighs, “I do not think you have really looked.”

It is true of course. What need has she to do so when she has Lord M, who has loved and cared for her in a way no one else ever has?

 

She can feel the tears welling up, “I was so happy before.”

“I find that happiness can always be recollected in tranquillity, Ma'am.”

Words of wisdom as always, even if they hurt desperately.

“You were happy too?”

She has to hear him say it, just once.

He gives her a bittersweet smile, “you know I was.”

She blinks back tears, and then frowns at him, “well, I'm not going to get married just to please you.”

“No,” he says, tired now but still wanting what is best for her, “you must please yourself.”  


It feels like an ending and she’s never been so wretched.

 

* * *

 

Albert comes and she cannot stand him at first.

But Lord M visits her less, and while it hurts she can understand that he is trying to give her space, trying to let her get to know the Prince without his influence.

So, for Lord M’s sake, Victoria tries.

And Albert improves in her eyes. He is far from perfect, but she begins to see in him the man he might become.

She doesn’t love him, not yet, but she thinks she might learn to, in time.

 

Lord M comes to see her, a knowing look on his face.

“I want you to be happy, Ma’am,” he tells her, “I want you to have a long, fulfilling life.”

He seems almost faded. She has always been able to see Lord M as well as she can see any living person, but now he seems a little translucent.

Neither of them mention it. They don’t want to think about what it means.

 

In the end, Victoria proposes to Albert.

In the back of her mind she’s sure she will never have with her Coburg cousin what she does with Lord M, but she knows she can never have what she truly desires, and she does not believe she will be unhappy with Albert.

She will love the Prince eventually, she believes, even if it won’t ever be like it has been for her and Lord M.

 

Lord M still visits, but every time he seems less solid, less connected to the human plane of existence.

She’s losing him, and she does not know if she will be able to bear it.

 

* * *

 

“May I kiss the bride?” he asks, as they stand together in the room she has retreated to in order to change out of her wedding finery and into a travelling dress.

She nods, eyes fluttering slightly as he leans down to press his lips against hers.

Their first kiss.

Their only kiss.

A wonderful moment she knows she will treasure forever.

 

When they break apart he is barely visible to her, a ghost in every sense of the word.

And she knows, deep down, that he is going somewhere she cannot follow.

“No,” she whispers, “please stay.”

“It’s time for me to go, Victoria,” he murmurs, “now that I know you can be happy without me.”

“Not in the way I would be if you were here,” she insists.

“I cannot stay,” he says sadly, “I cannot fight this.”

“I love you,” she tells him, fighting back sobs.

“And I love you too,” his smile lights up his face and makes him look twenty years younger, “these few years of death have been more wonderful than most of my life combined.”

“I will never forget,” she promises.

 

She looks at him one last time, memorises his face.

Then he is gone, and she knows that this time it is for good.

 

Years pass. She has Albert, her children and her friends. She has a magnificent, long life and a vast empire.

But throughout it all, one thing is constant.

She never forgets.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
